


whispers

by therentistoodamnhigh



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Choking, Fluff, M/M, dark and the host being the best/worst bffs ever, dark is an asshole too, host is not a cinnamon roll he's actually kind of a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therentistoodamnhigh/pseuds/therentistoodamnhigh
Summary: A collection of Markiplier ego drabbles.





	1. dark and the host

**Author's Note:**

> i accidentally started shipping queerplatonic dark/host and so this happened? those two have been around for four years, you can't tell me their friendship hasn't evolved to a couple of gossiping bitches talking shit about everyone
> 
> headcanon about host's eyes: he's got eyeballs, the surface is just completely red. he can see out of them, just not very well. the bandages are for the Aesthetic(TM)
> 
> (don't worry that choking tag isn't for this drabble)

“I can’t believe Wil insulted my roots. How am I supposed to know they’re showing?” the Host grumbled, sitting in a chair in the bathroom as Dark stood next to him and prepped the bleach.

“Well, that’s what you get when you try to prank someone who practically breathes absurdity,” Dark retorted. “You’ve known him for, what, three years now? You really ought to know better than this. Consider yourself lucky that he didn’t shoot you this time.” Dark set aside the bowl of bleach and clipped the Host’s hair out of the way, leaving the streak of dyed blonde free.

“I know,” the Host practically whined, “I just thought he had a better sense of humor these days. I need to get him back for that, that was below the belt. Do you think he’d like some good ol’ writing in blood on the walls?” Without waiting for Dark’s response, the Host cleared his throat and barreled ahead with a narration: “On the walls of Wilford Warfstache’s bedroom-”

Dark clapped a hand over Host’s mouth. “ **No.** None of that. Leave him be.” Dark didn’t remove his hand immediately, but once he felt the Host lick the palm of his hand he jerked it away instantly. “Really, Host? Are you a child?”

The Host stuck his tongue out at at Dark. “Party pooper.”

Dark sighed wearily, wiping his hand on his pants. “Just let me touch up your roots, idiot.”

The process went quickly, especially since it was a routine they’d done once a month for the past couple of years. They conversed casually, bickering about anything from the best glaze to use on sponge cakes to new torture methods to try on their next round of “guests”.

Dark clicked the blow drier off, having finished the process of bleaching and toning the Host’s blonde streak. He set it down on the bathroom counter and raised his hand to the host’s hair, hesitating for the briefest of moments. He gently ran his hand through the still warm hair, dragging his fingertips along the scalp. 

The Host sighed softly, fondly, closing his eyes as the long strands fell over the side of his face.

Dark smoothed the hair back from the Host’s face, considering for a moment the rare softness in his expression. His hand fell away, and Dark hummed gently in return. Dark picked up the jar of Host’s hair gel and began slicking back the hair just how the Host likes it.

The Host hummed contentedly. He was quiet a moment before he started snickering. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, Darkle Sparkle.”

Dark tugged on a lock of hair harshly. “In your dreams, you bleeding fool.” The Host laughed lightly as Dark finished up. He wiped the gel off his hands with a towel and tied the eye bandages around the Host’s head, making sure the stains lined up with his eyes.  “There, you’re finished. Get back to work before you make me regret helping you,” Dark said dryly, even as a corner of his mouth tilted up in a half-grin.

The Host stood up and stretched a little. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, edgelord.” As he exited the bathroom, he ruffled Dark’s hair, earning him a screech of outrage. He narrated the door shut and locked, chuckling at Dark’s overdramatics. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you out later!” he called back to the door.

Dark swore viciously and the door rattled in its frame.

The Host snickered and sighed with amusement as he left for his quarters. Halfway there, Dark passed him in the hallway.   
  
“I’ll get you back for that,” Dark growled at him, his hair still ruffled.

“Sure you will,” the Host replied to Dark’s retreating back. “What, are you gonna coat me in your eyeliner again?”

Dark responded with just a middle finger, and the Host laughed.


	2. strangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a friend wanted to see dark choking someone with his tie so this happened ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ mark happened to be the unfortunate victim

Dark was absolutely livid. He’d been so  _ patient  _ with Mark, every whim heeded, every condescending joke tolerated, because this project was his key to progression. If he couldn’t do this right, it’d be a very long time before he’d get another opportunity like this. 

But.

This was the last fucking straw. They’d gotten into an argument and they could’ve settled it peacefully but that absolute  _ disgrace _ of a human had implied that he was less competent than the Silver fucking Shepard, that he could do this project better by himself rather than with him.

How dare he. Dark had more talent in his fucking pinky than in the entire history of this mortal’s pathetic life.

Dark’s visage calmed for a moment, and in that moment he fractured, a fragment of himself briefly splitting off to rage and scream before reabsorbing itself into him. 

Mark’s eyes widened, and his stream of meaningless prattle faltered.

Dark rolled his neck and his face twisted into a snarl as he slowly began to approach. “I’ll teach you the  **real** meaning of talent,” he hissed. Dark began undoing his tie and it made the sound like the crack of a whip when he jerked it from its place around his neck.

Mark startled at the sound and made a placating gesture with his hands, looking slightly shaken. “Hey, look man, I’m sorry, maybe we can-”

“‘Sorry’ won’t save you,” Dark growled. “You should have thought of that before you decided that you were better than me.” He wound the thinner end around his right hand, gripping the wider end in his left. He approached with purpose this time and Mark tried to escape, but Dark caught him by the neck from behind with the taut length of his tie. Dark transferred the wide end of the tie into his right hand and shoved the man into the wall, ensuring that the tie was flush to his throat.

Mark immediately began scrabbling at the tie, even though he wasn’t quite choking yet. His struggling became frantic when Dark slammed him into the wall again, but up higher this time. The only thing holding him up was Dark’s fist braced against the wall and the silk tie cutting into the underside of his jaw, forcing his tongue to cut off his oxygen flow.

Dark grinned up at the Mark’s face with savage joy, relishing in the raw fear and panic in his face. Vein-like tendrils of black creeped down over Dark’s cheeks from the black staining around his eyes as he watched the life slowly drain from the human’s eyes. 

“This will be the last mistake you ever make,” he hissed. God, watching humans struggle was so fascinating; the way they instinctively reached for anything that could save them, even if it only had the slimmest chance of succeeding. So pathetic. So lovely. 

Mark’s struggling began to slow and weaken, and Dark tightened his grip on the tie just the barest amount. Dark’s glee reached its peak and he grinned wider. God, what he wouldn’t give to just kill the motherfucker and get the transition over with. 

But not today.

Dark’s grin dropped and he released the tie, allowing Mark to collapse to the floor and gasp for breath. There was too much to be done yet; the timing wasn’t right. Dark hauled Mark up by the back of his shirt and shoved him towards the door.

Mark stumbled but didn’t fall, still coughing and struggling to catch his breath. Relief and lingering terror made his limbs shake.

“Get the fuck out of my office,” he spat. The tendrils down Dark’s cheeks had retreated, leaving just the smooth ring of deep black around his eyes. “I don’t want to see your face in here for the rest of the week. We’ll discuss this later.”

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He ran from the office, residual fear fueling his escape.


End file.
